


Drive Me Crazy

by rsadelle



Category: Britney Spears (Musician), Metallica, Pop Music RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-03
Updated: 2001-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britney loses her virginity to Lars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive Me Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit underage sex and swearing. Be warned.
> 
> Written with Larissa.
> 
> We were watching the American Music Awards where LL Cool J was lusting after Britney, which is just wrong. We had to fix things. Lars lusting after Britney is nowhere near that level of wrong.

Nette: I still say Britney/Lars wrong.  
* Amatia ponders. C'mon, can't you all see Lars at least hitting on Brit?  
rsadelle: i can see lars/britney...  
* minerva pictures Lars hitting on Brit. Then Em hitting Lars.  
Nette: *sob* So can I. Sluts, the both of 'em.  
Nette: Nah, Britney'd be all flattered by Lars' attention.  
rsadelle: ooh. hmm...  
* rsadelle ponders  
Nette: Ooh, and Lars would be so turned on by her slut act and want to find out if it's true.  
rsadelle: oh yeah. he'd love watching her.  
minerva: Watching her do what?  
Nette: Maybe he'd make her dance for him.  
rsadelle: watching her do everything--acting like a slut.  
Nette: Sweet Jesus, he'd bust if she was in that Catholic schoolgirl outfit.  
rsadelle: lol--they'd never get to the sex.  
Nette: Ooh, lapdance.  
rsadelle: hmm. i'm not sure britney would go for that. lars has a tendency to tell everyone everything, and she has a reputation to uphold.  
Nette: Then she wouldn't really do anything with Lars, if she's that worried.  
rsadelle: not anything that could arouse suspicion...  
Nette: Flirting, touching, letting him rub her off in his car...  
rsadelle: Not returning the favor because he can come all on his own and she's a nice girl, really, she is.

So nice that Lars can't keep his hands off her, skimming his hands over her breasts, down past her waist until he's touching her through her dress. Pretty baby pink dress that makes her look even younger than she is, and it's so wrong, so dirty, but he can't stop.

She likes this. Turning men on. It's so easy, and this one is easier than most. Of course, everyone knows Starz--excuse me, *Lars* Ulrich is a slut who'll fuck anyone, even, eww, *Twiggy Ramirez*, but it's still a thrill to make him want her. And his hands feel pretty good, too.

He presses his fingers down hard, crushing the soft cloth as he grabs her, strokes her, pushes into her. He watches her eyes darken, licks her tender, pink mouth as she gasps for breath. She's wearing some floral perfume, light and airy, something a teenager would wear. It strikes him again how wrong this is, how he should stop and let her go now before it ends badly. Instead, he strokes her, the cloth the only barrier between them.

She arches into his touch, wanting more of it. She vaguely wishes his hands were bigger, so he could touch more of her at once, but she settles for forcing him to move his hands over and over her body. This, even more than LL's lust, more than all of her teenage fumblings with Justin, turns her on.

He tugs at her dress, liking the way it stretches on her body. Sweet, lithe body that's writhing underneath his hands, sharp fingernails digging deep into his arms. He desperately wants to touch her bare skin, but she's forbidden it. "Don't want anyone to know," she'd whispered when he'd first put his hand under her dress. So he plays by her rules, touches her only through the soft, pink dress that's wet with her slickness now. He can smell how excited she is.

She squirms against the fingers that come down to press the cloth against her cunt. She's so torn; she wants his fingers in her, but that's a whole lot harder to deny than his touching her through her dress. Being Britney Spears, virgin teen queen, is all about maintaining plausible deniability.

He rubs his face against her breasts, feeling the material abrade his face, and he growls in frustration. He pinches her as hard as he can, even though the cloth blunts most of the effect. He wants to touch her, wants to feel that hot, wet pussy suck at his fingers, grasp at him in a plea for more. He swallows her low cry, kissing her roughly since her mouth is the only part of her body he can touch unprotected. 'Let me in,' he demands silently.

Fuck, she wants him. It's not enough, this muted touch. She reaches behind herself and unzips her dress. She takes one of his hands and pushes it under the cloth onto her breast. She moans. That's so much better.

He squeezes her breast and pushes it up to his mouth, licking the hard, little nipple with an eager, greedy mouth. She smells sweet and powdery, like she dusted herself with talcum powder before she put on her perfume, and it's making him dizzy with lust.

He pulls further at her dress, desperate to reach more skin, tasting whatever part of her he can reach. He nips at her neck, licks down her collarbone and rubs his face into her breasts, scraping his stubble over her pretty, tender skin.

She grips his head, gasping as the roughness of his stubble hurts her and makes her want more at the same time. Just imagining it on the even tenderer skin of her inner thighs nearly makes her come.

He tugs at her nipple with his teeth, licking the hard point with a rough tongue as he pushes her dress up. He strokes her inner thigh, moving closer to her center, but not close enough to actually touch her. He's enjoying her and he wants to tease her a little before he goes any further. Closer and closer until he's just touching her, just brushing his fingers against her outside, dying to get in but holding back.

God, he knows what he's doing. A part of her screams at her to press forward and make him touch her, but another part of her hints that it will be better if she waits, lets him do it his way. Then again, last time she took some action, it got better. She presses her hips forward, making him touch her more firmly.

Lars hisses as the heat of her scalds him, burns his fingers, and slides two fingers into her, laughing as she bucks up into his hand. "You like that," he whispers huskily, the first words he's spoken to her since they'd gotten into the car. He spreads her open, looking down at her for a brief moment, before he flicks his thumb against her clit. "You'll like that even more."

She opens her mouth wide, too breathless to make any sound. Her hips twist; she wants him to touch her there again. She sucks in air, almost as desperate for oxygen as she is for his touch. "Please," she begs when she can almost breathe again, "do that again."

He strokes her again and again until she's sobbing and thrusting her hips up for more. 'More, more, more,' he can hear her beg, and he doesn't say no. He slips his fingers out of her and licks the taste of her off of them, ignoring her wail of frustration. He bends down, bit by bit, until he's buried in her, his tongue licking her soft, pink flesh hungrily.

Oh, fuck. She never knew it could be this good. Why had she waited to do this? She can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but let out small, gasping moans as he licks her, touches her, makes her feel better and better and better.

He spreads her thighs apart and licks her harder, rubbing his face eagerly into her sweetness until he's surrounded by her. He tongues her clit, sucking it gently into his mouth.

She finds enough breath to shriek, arching and twisting as she comes. She's touched herself before, but nothing has ever been this explosive, felt this good.

Lars licks her through her orgasm until she's shaking and squirming away in sensitivity. He leaves her reluctantly, still tasting her in his mouth. He crushes a part of her dress in his hand and grins at her. "So much for Miss Teen Virgin." He kisses her lips harshly, biting her pink lips teasingly. "So was that good?"

"Yes." The word escapes, and she kisses him back before she can think about what she should say. Her responsible, image-conscious side reasserts itself, and she says, "You can't tell anyone."

Lars raises an eyebrow. "And let everyone know I had sex with someone who's underage? Do I look that stupid to you?"

"You basically told everyone you slept with Twiggy." Her nose wrinkles as she says the name. "That was pretty stupid."

"He's not underage, Princess," he snaps, his ego stung. "You are. I don't wanna go to jail 'cause I fucked a pop star."

"You've hardly fucked me." She crosses her arms over her chest and stares off into the distance, away from him. "Besides, who's going to press charges? Me? I was right here loving every minute of it."

He tugs a strand of frosty, blonde hair and kisses her temple tenderly. "I would've fucked you, but you wouldn't let me, remember?" He hooks an arm under her knee and pulls at her until she's almost lying flat against the seat. "Wanna do stuff that's illegal in most states?" he grins wickedly.

She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. "I thought we already did."

He bends down and places a gentle kiss on her inner thigh, close enough that his mouth's almost touching her pussy again. "There's a lot more that we can do than just that," he promises.

She rubs her stomach lightly. "What if I'm too tired for anything more?"

He smiles and slides a finger in again, delighted when she gets wet almost immediately. "Just how tired are you?"

She reaches down and slides in one of her own fingers next to his. "Maybe I'm not that tired after all."

Lars teases her slick insides, gradually sliding two fingers into her and twisting them roughly. He laughs as her eyes widen and bends down to lick out her mouth. "Hot," he murmurs against her lips. "You're so fucking hot. Burning me..." He shivers as she pushes up into his hand, pushing his fingers deeper into her. "Fuck, you can move."

"I'm well-trained." She hooks her arms around his neck and holds him down, kissing him. She moves against him, setting her own rhythm, finding out how she wants it to feel.

He switches to her rhythm, crushing her mouth to his as he strokes in and out of her smoothly, pinching her slightly just to make her moan. "I wanna fuck you," he pants, hard for her. "Can I fuck you? Please." He mutters a plea in Danish, a whisper of want against her mouth, soft sweet mouth that he can't stop kissing.

She pushes at his shoulders. "Are you fucking crazy? Jesus, that's all I'd need." She pushes away from him far enough so that she can think, can deny him. "I'm a virgin with an image to uphold."

"They won't fucking know," he growls as his fingers slip out of her, still pushing at her, trying to catch her mouth again. He knows that if he can just touch her, kiss her, bury himself in her, she'll be his. Or maybe he'll be hers. He can't remember ever being this crazy for someone, ready to kill and fuck anyone who tries to remove him from her. "Let me fuck you." He moves towards her again. "I'll make it good for you, I fucking swear."

"Jesus," she mutters. She pushes him back again. "Do you have a fucking condom? I'll let you do it if you have a fucking condom. I'm not getting pregnant and considering your history, I seriously doubt fucking you is all that safe."

"Bitch," Lars mutters under his breath, but it doesn't stop him from wanting her. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, extracting his ever-present condom--not that he's ever had reason to use it--and holds it up to her. "This good enough for you?" he asks sourly.

She smiles a too sweet to be real smile. "Perfect." She pulls him back to her. "You're going to be my first." She kisses him, licking and tasting his lips. "Does that turn you on?"

He cups her between her legs and squeezes hard, smiling viciously when she winces, then relaxes his hold. "Yes, it does, Britney," he admits softly. "It really, really fucking does." His fingers rub her apologetically, starting the rhythm again, sliding in and out steadily until she's lifting her hips again and pushing into him.

He unzips himself with his free hand and pulls himself out, reluctantly letting her go so he can put on the condom. He places a tender bite on the inside of her thigh. "Ready?"

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah." He pushes into her, and, fuck, it hurts. She's not sure she'd have let him do it if she'd known how fucking much it would hurt. She squeezes her eyes shut and holds herself very still for a moment, breathing deeply. She'll adjust. It'll get better. It has to. Why else would people do this?

He feels her stiffen as he pushes in, hears the little grunt of pain she makes, but he doesn't stop until he's fully seated in her. Better to get it over with quickly than to prolong the pain. Once he's completely inside her, he holds still, trembling with the effort of not moving, not giving in to his urges and just taking her.

She'll throw him off if he hurts her, he knows she will; she's made it clear she won't take shit from him. More than that, he wants her to enjoy this. "You okay?" he finally asks.

She breathes out slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." She starts to move against him again. She twists one leg around his hip. "Are you going to fuck me now or is this the best you've got?"

"Gimme a minute," he grinds out, breathing heavily as he pulls out of her. He yanks her hips up, wrapping the other leg around his waist, and slowly slides back into her. She squeezes her legs tightly around his waist, making him groan and tighten his fingers on her. He slams into her involuntarily, then stops, panting harshly. "I'm not a fucking doll," she hisses. "Fuck me."

He strokes the hair back from her face. "Are you sure that's what you want? Can you handle me, Princess?"

"God damn it, yes, I can handle you," she growls. She struggles to move against him, but his weight presses her down. "Just do it already, you fucking bastard."

He slides out and roughly thrusts back into her. "Like that? That what you wanted?" He doesn't give her a chance to answer, just crushes her to him and takes her mouth. Slip-slide in and out until he's ramming into her, losing control with each passing second. He moves his mouth to her breasts, tonguing the peaked nipples, passionately kissing the undersides of her breasts.

"Fuck," she says, spitting the word out in a gust of air. She scrabbles at his shoulders, pulling him against her, pushing his head against her pale skin. He rubs his stubbled chin against her breasts again and she moans. "Fuck, Lars, yeah." He slams in and out of her, making her slide against the upholstery.

He presses down, holding her still against the seat, and angles himself so he can go deeper. He groans harshly as she closes around him, automatically flexing herself so that she grips him in her slick caress. "Fuck," he breathes in awe. "You're a natural. Can't believe this... you feel so good..." He whispers disjointedly against her skin, burying his face between her breasts and breathing in her scent as he fucks her, nibbling her with his teeth every once in a while.

"Stop fucking talking," she gasps. "Just make me come."

He slams into her harder, faster. He bites down on her nipple, twisting it harshly. "Like the pain, Princess?" he asks when she groans and bucks up against him.

She pulls his head up and bites his lips, making him slam down into her. "Not as much as you do."

There's no more talk, just the sounds of heavy grunts and bodies slapping against each other, celebrating the ecstasy of flesh. Lars isn't gentle anymore. He pushes her legs as far apart as he can and shoves himself hard against her, capturing the cry that escapes her, sinking his teeth into her soft lips. As a final torture, he reaches down and touches her clit, pressing down and rubbing it, fiercely aroused when she screams and arches up.

She never knew the human body could feel so much pleasure. She's coming and coming and coming, and it doesn't feel like she'll ever stop. From somewhere far away, she hears Lars' yell as he comes. Everything goes dark for a long moment, and when she blinks her eyes back open, Lars is stroking her cheek and saying, "Come on, Princess. Come on, baby. I know it was incredible, but you have to come back now."

She keens softly as she shifts under him, feeling him move inside her, with her. She slowly pulls herself up, sitting back in her seat, biting her lip as the soreness comes. She nudges Lars gently. "Get off," she says, not unkindly. "You're heavy and I'm hurting."

"I already got off; that was the whole fucking point," he says, but he moves off of her, stripping off the condom with an easy twist of his wrist. He pulls her skirt back down over her thighs, brushing his hands down her legs as he does. He leaves his hands on her knees and leans forward, kissing her. "Was it everything you wanted from your first time?"

She nods, a little reluctant to admit that. Lars isn't exactly her idea of first-time material, and his abrasive personality had made her reconsider this whole encounter more than once. Then he'd touched her and stroked her and made her come so hard she'd almost passed out. To hell with that, she had passed out. She can still feel his fingers touching her all over. "I'm fine," she says huskily.

He strokes his thumb over her cheekbone and kisses her again, long and slow and wet. "I know you're fine. You're better than fine. You've been fucked." He strokes her knee, his fingers tracing arcs on the skin of her leg. "Was it what you wanted your first time to be? The backseat of a car with some older man you barely know?" He licks at the edges of her lips. "Was that what you dreamed about when you lay awake in your little girl bed and thought about your first time?"

She pushes his hands away, denying the words, but he slips his fingers through, skimming her legs up to her thighs and back down again. "No," she protests. "No, I didn't--"

"Liar," he murmurs with a wicked smile. "You wanted it like this. Did you fantasize about white lace and roses and tender kisses?"

She shakes her head and pushes at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. "I didn't want it like this, you bastard," she snarls. "I wanted it to be--" She hesitates.

"Special?" Lars prompts.

She pushes at him. "Don't fucking make fun of me."

He strokes the soft skin of her thighs again. "I'm not making fun of you." He kisses her, licking his way past her lips. "Tell me, Princess. How'd you imagine your first time?"

She glares at him, but he refuses to move, only continues softly stroking her skin. "Yeah," she mutters, "special."

She's disgruntled about the whole conversation, and it's amusing him. "Who'd you picture for your first? Your boyfriend?" He sneers as he mentions Justin.

She frowns fiercely at him, clutching his hands and trying to move them away. "Don't you talk about him. You just leave him the fuck out of this."

He lets out a low, dark chuckle. "You certainly did." He grips both of her hands in one of his and holds them still. "Is that what you pictured? You and your precious Justin on your wedding night, Justin delicately taking off your pretty, white, fairy tale dress and making love to you on rose-scented sheets?" He strokes a hand along her blush-heated cheek, ignoring the way she struggles against his grip.

He's a bastard and she hates his fucking guts. She can't move her hands; his grip's too strong for that, and he's more determined than she is. So she twists up and pushes at the same time, throwing him off of her with a wild cry. She scrabbles at the door, frantically working the handle until it opens, and stumbles out of the car. She's probably a mess, hair wild, make-up smeared, but she doesn't care. She just wants to leave, be anywhere else but here.

"Britney," Lars calls after her.

She whips around and screams at him. "Fuck off. I fucking hate you. Hate you!"

He walks toward her faster than she would have thought anyone that short could. "Come on, Princess, don't be stupid," he says, grabbing her arm. He strokes his hands up and down her bare arms. "You don't hate me." He leans in and kisses her. "You wanted me to fuck you." He ghosts his lips across her forehead. "You *loved* it. I promise you, Princess, that was a much better first time than you ever would have had with your precious little boy."

"You don't know that," she says through her teeth.

Lars pulls her into his arms, moulding her to his body, gently cupping the swell of her hips. "I know," he states firmly. "He wouldn't have had a fucking clue what to do with you." He trails his fingers down her neck, past her chest until he reaches her groin and strokes her through her dress. "He wouldn't have known that you liked being touched here," he squeezes her tenderly, "or that you liked teeth," he nips her neck, "and tongue," he moves up to lick her lips. "He'd be gentle with you." The word's a curse on his lips.

"Maybe I wanted gentle." The gasp that escapes her lips as his teeth close on her lip belies her words.

"No, you don't. You want this," he pinches her nipple through her dress, "and this," he presses his fingers against her clit through her pale pink dress.

"Yeah," she moans, unable to pull away from Lars' hands and mouth.

He's so tempted to take her again. Just push her down on the asphalt and slide into her, fuck her until she's screaming and coming, clutching desperately at him as her orgasm tears through her. He loves how open and innocent her face is when she comes, her soft, wet lips parted as she moans and grabs greedily for air. He puts his hand under her dress and slides it inside her.

Britney makes a sound of pain and stops his hand. "Don't. "It really fucking hurts."

He changes the direction of his hand and strokes her stomach instead. "Sorry," he murmurs into her ear, "but that's what happens when you really get fucked." He kisses her cheek, flicking out his tongue to taste the soft sheen of sweat on her skin. "It won't be so bad next time. You'll be more ready for it. It'll be all pleasure."

"Next time?" she quivers. No. Oh, no, no, no, she's not doing this with him again. She's never going to see him again after this, she swears it. Never going to let him touch her, kiss her, fuck her-- Never again. "There won't be a next time," she says raggedly. "There wasn't even supposed to be a this time. We can't do this again."

He strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers. "We couldn't do it this time, but we did, Princess." He kisses her, sucking at her mouth. "We'll find a time and a place. You'll come back to me." He nips at the curve of her neck. "You won't be able to resist."

She closes her eyes and shivers, licking her suddenly dry lips as she falls under his spell. "I don't--"

"You do," he insists. "You need this, Princess. Your pretty boy can't do half the things I can, and you'll need me again." He nuzzles behind her ear. "Come back another time when you're tired of him, and I'll show you what you're missing."

She sways toward him, then pulls herself back. "I--" She swallows, tries to pull on her usual persona. "I've gotta go. Someone'll be wondering where I am."

Lars brushes his thumb over her lips. "Hang on there, Princess. You're not quite ready for the public eye yet." He pulls the skirt of her dress down and the top up. He brushes the hair back from her face. "You should redo your makeup. Or at least take it off." He swipes at her cheek and comes away with a mascara-smudged finger. "It's all messed up."

She runs back to the car to get her purse, checking herself out in her compact. Jesus, the minute someone sees her, they'll be able to tell what she was doing. She fumbles through her purse and pulls out a pack of tissues, scrubbing the remnants of make-up off her face. She's pink with exertion once she's done, but at least she looks like herself again. She combs her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the snarls in it. "Is this better?" she asks once she's done.

Lars looks her over critcally. "Well, you don't look like you got fucked in the backseat, if that's what you're asking."

She slumps against the car. "Is it good enough to get me back through the madhouse to my limo?"

He nods. "Yeah, as long as you don't get too close to anyone who knows you well." He strokes her cheek. "I'd stay away from Justin if I were you."

She groans. "Fuck, that'll be hard."

He chuckles and bites down gently on her earlobe. "Just tell him you have a headache."

She sighs and nods. "Might as well. He always understands, anyway." She's unhappy with how well he can read her and predict her behavior. She hates being figured out so easily. "Back to the party," she mumbles, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and getting ready to leave.

Lars takes her hand and leads her towards the entrance of the afterparty, standing well away from her as they reach the doorway. "Can you handle it from here?" he questions softly. "I'm assuming you don't wanna be seen with me so you'll have to make it in on your own."

"I'm a big girl," she snaps. "I think I can make it back to a party on my own."

He shakes his head. "Damn, Princess, you're a real spitfire." His lips curve into a smile. "I like that in a girl."

She shivers at his words and steps back up to him, gripping his chin and kissing him quickly. "See you around," she throws over her shoulder as she heads back into the party.

Lars watches her as she disappears into the crowd, swallowed up by the glittery people around her. He strains to catch sight of her, but he's too short and the people too many. He moves away from the door as a couple stumbles out, drunkenly groping each other in plain view. Time for him to leave. As he fades away from the party scene, he remembers her, a picture of her lodged firmly in his mind. She'll come back to him, he promises. And if she doesn't, well, then, he'll just go after her.


End file.
